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Connor eyes me. “And you think that man is me?”
I shrug, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth as I take another sip of my whiskey. “I suppose we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
My bravado is as much a game as anything else. Inside, I’m quaking at the prospect of being Connor’s wife, of moving forward with this plan, of the war and bloodshed that could occur if Liam doesn’t go quietly. I’m afraid of what will happen when we return, both within my future marriage and without.
I’m afraid of the things Connor will make me want and the things he can make me feel. I’m fearful of the inevitable rejection when he tires of me. I’m afraid that somehow, the control I hope to have over my own life despite my marriage will slip through my fingers, and I’ll end up just like my mother and every other mob wife I’ve ever known.
A trophy and a broodmare for a powerful man. My father might use my mother’s eyes and ears to serve his own ends, but that’s just it. She serveshim. Nothing about my mother’s life has ever been for herself.
Somewhere, at the crossroads of duty and desire, there must be a way for me to take something for myself.
When Connor returns me to the hotel, I wonder if he’ll kiss me again. He’s been a perfect gentleman all night, as much unlike the man who pinned me up against the wall or defiled me in that club as he could possibly be.
I can see the heat in his eyes, and I can see him trying to resist it, too.
“You can go up first,” he says. “I’m going to have another drink at the bar.”
A small thrill ripples through me at that. The only reason I can think of for him not to go up at the same time I do is that he doesn’t trust himself in the elevator with me, doesn’t trust himself not to follow me up to my room and take what will be his shortly anyway.
Something in me thrills at the thought of that, even though I know I could never allow it. It’s just thethoughtthat makes my hands feel slightly shaky, my stomach turn over with nervous excitement.
“Do you want company?” I raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if he’s thinking of the last time we drank together at a bar, those honeyed drinks we had before going up to the private room in the club.
“No,” he says flatly, as if he doesn’t pick up on my flirtation at all—or just doesn’t care. “I want to be alone.”
“Oh.” The word comes out more disappointed than I would have liked. “Goodnight then, Connor.”
I’d almost asked him to kiss me, but after that, I can’t bring myself to. It doesn’t matter that he’s barely touched me all night, and I’m aching for his hands on my body again, for the touch of his mouth on mine. I’m not going to beg for him or any man.
I turn away, intending to go to the elevator without another word.
His hand closes on my wrist, pulling me around and back into him, hard enough that the air rushes out of me as Connor’s other arm goes around my waist.
“You’re a devil of a woman, Saoirse,” he hisses against my mouth as his lips come close to mine. “And once we’re married—”
“What?” I breathe, looking up at him, my heart thundering in my chest. A dozen filthy things that I’d only ever read about before that fateful night at the club and a hundred more that are nothing but formless possibilities in my mind race through my thoughts as Connor pulls me close, the length of him in his jeans already hard against my thigh.
“This will pass,” he growls, his lips brushing against mine. “It has to.”
It’s hardly the romantic declaration any woman would want on the edge of her engagement. Still, in his arms, I can’t bring myself to care. “Of course, it will,” I whisper, as much for myself as for him, but the words are swallowed up by his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, devouring me in the middle of the hotel lobby for anyone to see.
One of his hands is fisted in my hair, the other gripping my slender waist, his broad hard-muscled body leaning so strongly into mine that he nearly bows me backward. I’m glad I’m wearing jeans because from the way he’s kissing me, I wouldn’t put it past him to have his hand under my dress, even here in the open.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Connor, it’s that he rarely gives a shit what anyone else thinks, if there’s something he wants. And right now, I know he wants me, even if he’s fighting it.
Even if he claims it will pass.
Right now, I don’t know if Iwantit to.
His hand slides down, inching towards my ass, curving to grab a handful of it. I can feel the heat between my thighs, my hips arching into his shamelessly, my body craving everything he has to give.I can’t wait for our wedding night,I think dizzily as he kisses me, his mouth slanting over mine to deepen the kiss even more.I can’t wait to find out what everything else is like.
And then, just as his hand slides under the curve of my ass in my tight jeans, gripping to pull me even closer to him as he angles me towards the nearest chair in the hotel lobby, something vibrates in his pocket. It buzzes against my hipbone, shivering over my skin, and I moan. I can’t help myself.
I’m so turned on I think I could die.
Connor pulls back, breaking the kiss and swearing under his breath. “Who in the bloody hell, at this time of night—” he yanks the phone out of his pocket, and I catch just a glimpse of the number on the screen before he denies the call.
An international number. From Boston.
